


5 times in the pub John worried Lestrade and the week that followed

by n0t_leaving



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Abusive Relationships, Friendship, Greg Lestrade/John Watson implied, Greg and John were friends before Sherlock, Happy (ish) ending, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Past Abuse, Podfic Welcome, god awful spacing, i cannot stress how much i hate indenting, like how do you indent, past abusive relationship, sort of idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29090976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n0t_leaving/pseuds/n0t_leaving
Summary: Basically the title...Greg just wants John happy, safe and happy.John, well John, thinks he's fine.
Relationships: Greg Lestrade & John Watson
Kudos: 6





	5 times in the pub John worried Lestrade and the week that followed

**Author's Note:**

> hi :)  
> pls read the tags and make sure you're okay to read.   
> hope everyone's okay x

“Okay, out with it. You’ve being drinking like your sister for the past hour and you haven’t mentioned how fuckable Rooney is the whole time. What’s wrong?”

“Firstly, rude. Secondly, I thought you hated me talking about Rooney’s ass. I thought ‘my obsession with Rooney’ was the reason I wasn’t allowed to drink with you and your detective squad.”

“You know as well as I, you aren’t nor ever have been a detective, so you aren’t allowed, squad rules. And Sherlock has pissed them off enough for their annoyance to overspill onto you.”

“By that logic I should have no friends.”  
“You don’t have any friends.”

“I have you.”

“I don’t count, and you know it. And this, avoidance, is the other reason you are bereaved of friends.”

“Well maybe your persistence is the reason you’re drinking a sad loner like me instead of with all these friends you keep bragging about.”

“John.”

“Fine. It’s not really…it’s just classic Sherlock stuff, not really a big deal.”

“Everything with sherlock’s a big deal, he’s a fucking drama queen. What did his highness do this time that you got you drinking whisky?”

“He just, god it’s ridiculous, he was doing one of his blasted experiments some shit about fight clubs and liver and fuck knows and I ‘interrupted’ during the ‘critical moment’ and next thing I know we’re in the huge row about fucking nothing.”

“Why do I feel like that’s not the end of the story?”

“Because you’re a competent detective.”

“I don’t know about that. Go on, mate?”

“Well, it’s just he, he- it was just a stupid fight.”

“A stupid fight usually ends with you drinking a reasonable amount of alcohol and us joking about lacing his tea with tranquiliser or laxatives or some shit, not this. Tell me.”

“I don’t know why it gets me so much, I am, well was, a fucking Captain.”

“Yeah, and I’m a policeman. Point.”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“No chance Johnny boy.”  
“He, I don’t even thing he meant to do it, he- We were just shouting and then he was like pacing. His hands like, going wild and then he just, like hits me, a bit.”

“He hit you? Is _that_ what that’s from. Jesus, I thought you got attacked during a case or something.”

“It was like a slap really, nothing serious just reminded me of, you know.”

“Just a- that’s not the point John. You know if you came to the station and said this I’d-“

“I know, but it’s Sherlock. I know he didn’t mean it or anything. I mean he looked more shocked than me and it real was-“

“You better not fucking say your fault.”

“It just got out of hand. It really wouldn’t be anything but, since-it’s just a bit hard-“

“I know lad, I know.”

“Can I- would it be alright if I slept on your sofa tonight?”

“Whatever you need.”

* * *

**“** Ah, bugger it. I better go. You know how he gets.”

**“** You’re shoulder alright?”

“What? Oh, the cane. No, it’s fine. Just a spot of pain.”

“I thought it was, er, psychosomatic or something?”

“Oh yeah, it was.”

“Right. So, what’s different about it now? What it stopped being in your head?”

“Something like that. Any I better run, don’t want to make him any more annoying than usual.”

“Right. Yeah. Next week then.”

* * *

“So, I walk into the kitchen and, and he’s standing there with his fucking ridding cope like some crazed dominatrix, eyes like fucking saucers, flicking the thing everywhere and he starts walking towards me waving the fucking crop around and like whacking and I’m like trying to dodge out the way and, and he looks like he’s doing some erratic dancing. Honestly, Greg it was hilarious, but I’m there thinking he’s on fucking heroine or something. I gotta call bloody Mycroft. So, I’m like so reaching for the phone when I fucking see what he was ‘experimenting on’, and fuck, for a genius he’s so fucking stupid, he, he fucking took acid thinking it was fucking sugar and I can’t-“

“So, he ‘unintentionally’ got high and started hitting you?”

“Yeah, it was so funn- wait that’s what you’re taking from that story? Not the sugar and the dancing and-“

“John, I asked you what happened to you face because last month it looked like a blueberry and you tell he your supposed best friend took acid and then beat you with a riding crop?”

“No, I’m- he didn’t beat me. He was hallucinating.”

“And that what, excuses it? You were fucking black and blue.”

“He’s just a bit of a mad bastard. That’s not- that’s not why I told that story.”

“I know it’s not, and that’s why I don’t like it. You have to see that isn’t okay.”

“I mean, yeah, it’s not okay, I know that, I’ve _learnt_ that. But it’s Sherlock, nothing he does it really ever ‘okay’ and it’s was funny. It’s not the same.”

* * *

“God, he pisses me off. I swear next week I may resort to a drugs bust.”

“Well, give me a heads up before, yeah? He’s not the only one who lives there. I may need-“

“I know about the fucking gun John. You blood shot that crack pot cabbie with it.”

“I know you know! I’m not Sherlock, I know there is no way you are ‘stupid enough’ to not work out it was me. But I need to actually find it first. Sherlock takes and hides my shit when I’ve pissed him off. And I don’t doubt he’ll put it somewhere this week the way he’s been acting.”

“Surely, there’s some other way he could be pissed off at you that doesn’t revolve around stealing. Doesn’t he know?”

“Yeah, but I take his crap too. It’s usually when I’ve hidden his cigarettes.”

“Bit of a difference there mate, he asks you to do that.”

“I guess, it’s better than the alternative.”

“Do I want to know?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing like what you’re thinking Inspector. He just threatens to experiment on me, the weirdo. The usual, ‘I’ll slip something in your tea that’ll make you bald’ or ‘I’ll poison you slowly’ is a favourite. Fucking nutter, s’not like he’d actually do anything. I mean he has, but those times were for cases.”

“Jesus wept John. How do you live with that?”

“Your drugs busts help.”

* * *

“Oi! Let me get the tab you alw-“

“What the fuck it wrong with your hand?”

“Split fucking burning tea on it didn’t I, like a berk.”

“But- but, that looks like fucking 3rd degree bu-“

“Oh, piss off. It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad. Mate, I’ve seen dead bodies with better- you’ve got to get that looked at. Did you even fucking wrap it?”

“Oh, so I’m not allowed to be a detective, but you can be a doctor.”

“Seriously John, that does not look okay.”

“Oh, stop clucking, it’s fine. It’s second degree at most and I’ve got no nerve damage and there is no longer a risk of infection.”

“How the fuck did you do that?”

“Tea. I told you. Right so 3 pints for me, 2 for you and 2 pa-“

“Nope. Tell me full. There is no way it would look that bad if you split just tea on yourself.”

“Yeah well, some tea got split and then I was busy, and it was just worse than I initially thought.”

“How did you get busy? It must have been fucking pai-“

“I don’t know, we were in the middle of a case and Sherlock threw the cup and then there was no time because we were running an-“

“Wait, Sherlock threw the cup? At you? He threw a cup of scoldin-“

“No. no. He just sort of let it go with force around me because he was running and I didn’t move out the way so-“

“So, this is _your_ fault?”

“For fuck sake Greg. This is why I wasn’t going to-“

“You are always getting hurt bec-“

“It’s not even a big deal and-“

“It’s like he fucking does it on purposes and you just let-“

“Hang on. No, he fucking doesn’t. Listen to yourself Greg you sound like I’m getting fucking abused or something. It’s not like-“

“Maybe you are.”

“that’s- That’s- I’m leaving if you’re going to fucking continue like this.”

“I’m-I’m just worried for you Johnny. I don’t- I don’t like you being hurt.” He reaches over and rubs his thumb over John’s uninjured knuckles. “I want to you be safe.”

“I am, of course I am.” John says, meeting his gaze with the smallest hint of a smile playing his lips.

“Will you stay at mine tonight?” He doesn’t cease his action nor look away from his eyes, but John does.

“I- I don’t think-“

He nudges him until their eyes meet again, dipping his head and tilting up to meet John’s downcast gaze. “Please, for me?” He smiles a fraction, hoping it’s reassuring.

In the pause that follows it seems nobody moves.

“Okay.” And Lestrade feels like he can breathe again. 

* * *

John’s gone before Lestrade is even awake.

The knot in Greg’s stomach tightens.

* * *

**You okay? You left before we could talk? GL**

**fine. Early shift**

And yet he knows that the surgery is closed on Sundays.

* * *

“You seen John at all?”

“Freak’s lap dog?”

“Yeah.”

“Haven’t seen him. Why?”

“He just seemed off last time I saw him.”

“Well, I’ll call if he turns up, but Freak’s alone today. Maybe he’s doing his GP thing, it is Monday.”

“Yeah maybe.”

He calls the surgery, telling himself that doing so makes him a good friend and not a stalker. They told him Doctor Watson only works on Wednesdays and Thursdays.

* * *

**Pub? Big match tonight GL**

**sory mate canf coem pub today**

**what’s so important you’re leaving me to watch footie alone look like a sad bugger then? GL**

**case overrfn**

**you okay? You’re typing you’ve got Parkinson’s? GL**

**s northing**

***its nothing**

**Sure mate? GL**

**Yeh**

* * *

He’s being ridiculous, he tells himself as he looks at his phone.

It’s Wednesday. 4 days since he’s seen John, which is less than the normal about of time they go without seeing each other. For god’s sake, he went 3 years without seeing him and he was in a war zone then.

But he had lied and not been at a case.

And missed a big game.

“Hello. Speaking?”

“Oh hello Mrs. H it’s Greg, um Greg Lestrade.”

“Oh inspector, what has the menace done now?”

**“** Surprisingly nothing. It was actually John I was after.”

“Ah that’s nice. I think he needs a friend right now, the boys, you see, they’ve had a _domestic._ Always bickering they are, but John seemed a bit, not himself.”

“Right, well. Could you tell him I phoned and that if he doesn’t call back I’ll be around tomorrow.”

“I’ll do that Inspector, but I’m not their housekeeper. It’s just because John seemed so down.”

“I really appreciate it.”

* * *

It’s John’s fault for not calling, that’s why he was bargaining in on him like this.

Except when he did barge in to the flat, at 8pm so he knows he’s not a surgery; John wasn’t there.

Sherlock was at the table doing whatever Sherlock does. Apparently, he hadn’t even noticed John had gone out.

* * *

Lestrade spends the next two days purposefully not thinking about John. And how he’s been evading him. And much he’s fucking worried.

* * *

“Hey.”

“Hi.” He sits down next to him, not across, different from how they are at the pub.

Now he’s found him, he suddenly doesn’t know what to say.

“I missed you last week. Footie’s not the same without you” _and I was so worried about you._

“I’m sorry I missed it.” _I didn’t mean to worry you._

“Yeah. It was a good match. Intense.” _I know._

They sit, not saying anything and Greg is reminded of the first time they met. John sat behind the metal table, hands clasped together until they turned white, golden hair long and straggly; so young. He had smiled when Greg sat down opposite, despite the black eye and burst lip. He asked if Greg was new. He was fresh out of training and conducting his first interview, not 4 years older than the boy in front of him. He asked how he worked that out, his newness, and the small glimmer in John’s eye as he said “the others never bothered to smile back” made him desperately want to reach out for his hand.

Much like now.

“I think I must have a propensity for it.”

It was a surprise then and it probably would be now, even with all of Greg experience on the force, how calm and happy John had appeared throughout the whole interview. They had warned him of violence, crying and silence, common of abuse victims. What he got was softly spoken words, clear and precise and small add-libs followed by tentative smiles.

“I was so sure it wasn’t like last time.”

As he read through John’s account, he just smiled and nodded. Adding detail when asked. Detail that made Greg’s stomach churn and buck, but never touched John’s smile.

“I just thought, I thought-“

Greg had asked him if the events described in interview, events of fists and alcohol and broken trust, were common occurrence and John’s smile had faltered. He looked up at him as if for the first time and whispered, “I think, Constable, we’re both just very clumsy.” Greg had wanted to shake him, to make him see. But john had continued “But I think when I’m clumsy it’s by accident and when he’s clumsy he- I think he likes to be clumsy.”

“I think you might be right.”

Greg looked across at him then, wanting so desperately to grab his hand.

“I think the difference is, he doesn’t understand that what he’s doing is wrong or at least doesn’t do it for malicious reasons. I think that he is just clumsy by nature, that a stray punch or hurled object are just how he’s lived. He thinks everyone is invincible like him. It isn’t like before, he never, he never means for this to happen.”

“I just want you safe.”

John looked across at him then and intertwined their fingers. He had a soft smile playing across his lips disguised by the bruise swelling across his right cheek.

They hadn’t mentioned it, when John had appeared on that crime scene years after, the police interview and numerous check ins that followed and slowly turned into friendship before an army call took it away.

“I know. I think I could be.”

He looks down, at the water drifting below them and their legs winging side by side through the bridge rails.

“Will you help me?”

“For as long as you need.”

**Author's Note:**

> pls let me know if i fucked up anywhere (except the fuckign indents which have been the bain of my life) or if i need to add a new tag or something :) 
> 
> stay safe xox


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